They are flying.
Forty feet between their shoes and the ground.
They feel so free.
How funny, then, that all that stops their freefall is a cage.
Metal grates that are painted black but never quiet.
Footsteps vibrate the length of the paths.
Unless, like they have, you’ve learned to step softly.
He stands behind her, has her bent over the railing.
Their silhouettes merge and separate and merge again.
A sound escapes her and his hand covers her mouth.
Their shapes move faster.
The metal grates shift beneath them. Neither cares.
They can hear others, down below. It adds to the high.
She cries out against his fingers.
He slides his hands to her throat, gripping, still moving against her.
Her hands curl around the rail.
He gives a quick shout, releases her.
The two shadows separate for a moment as they dress.
He steps forward, whispers something against her ear.
Then he shoves her as hard as he can.
He watches her tumble over the rail.
Forty feet, he thinks.
Brace for impact.